Thomson

It’s a heck of a way to run a pre-election campaign. On the eve of an expected election, politicians usually spend their time playing up good news, downplaying the bad, shaking hands and kissing babies.

Thomson: Impossible not to like Klein

Alberta Premier Ralph Klein is seen in his legislature office on Dec. 20, 2000, as he reflected back on the year in politics.

Photograph by: Shaughn Butts
, Edmonton Journal

EDMONTON - He insisted on being called “Ralph,” which is why I insisted on calling him “Mr. Klein” or “Premier” or sometimes “Mr. Premier.”

I wasn’t trying to be a stubborn contrarian. I just wanted to maintain some professional distance from a man who was so adept at charming journalists. His charm was without artifice or effort, which made it all the more powerful. As a former journalist himself, Klein knew what the news media was all about.

He was blunt and funny and many times disarmingly honest. Even after years as the most powerful provincial politician in Alberta, he still had the air of the rebellious underdog about him. And he was always refreshingly blunt.

When he announced his retirement in 2006, he said he was mulling over some job offers. “These are paying jobs and I’m going to make a fortune, a hell of a lot more than I’m earning right now,” Klein happily told reporters in a candid assessment of his retirement. “The ones I will accept are the ones that will require the least amount of work.”

We in the news media came to rely on Klein’s candour to turn an otherwise deadly dull story into a national front-pager. He tended to get blunter as he approached retirement and didn’t have to face another election. He even stopped talking to some journalists who had irritated him.

Well, he stopped talking to me. At the premiers’ conference in July 2006, he made a point of saying, “I don’t talk to you” when I asked him a question. He was apparently upset with my columns that said he didn’t understand how Canada’s equalization program worked.

I had also written columns over the years complaining that Klein had marginalized the legislative assembly and turned the civil service, particularly the public affairs bureau, into a partisan machine that seemed more interested in serving the interests of the Conservatives than the public.

I can honestly say, though, I wasn’t upset or hurt or particularly surprised that he wasn’t keen to speak with me. I can also sincerely say I quite liked Klein on a personal level. In 2001, he offered me a ride on a government plane from a premiers’ conference in Victoria so I could get back to Edmonton to watch my daughter take part in the opening ceremonies of the World Track and Field Championships. I hadn’t asked for a ride. He had simply offered it after hearing I’d miss my daughter’s performance. I paid my own fare and wasn’t allowed to talk to him for the whole trip so that other reporters wouldn’t complain that I got preferential access.

At his core, there was a decency and honesty about Klein that people appreciated.

That decency was no more apparent than in March of 1998 when Klein’s government introduced a piece of legislation to limit the rights of those forcibly sterilized under the old Social Credit government to sue for compensation. Klein initially tried to defend the legislation, but he would say afterwards that he knew he was wrong the moment NDP MLA Pam Barrett stood in the assembly and furiously denounced the bill as an insult to those already brutalized by a former government.

Klein, who always saw himself as a champion of the underdog, realized he was on the wrong side of the fight. He scrapped the legislation the following day.

“My political sense probably didn’t click into gear,’’ said Klein. “What serves a politician is to be honest and to stand up and say, ‘We made a mistake, we were wrong.’ ”

Another politician might have stuck to his guns and pushed the bill through. Another politician might have avoided the controversy altogether by paying closer attention to the legislation. But what we had instead was a classic Klein moment. Never a details guy, he had failed to pay attention to the ramifications of the bill as it was under construction. He might have fought with Barrett in the legislature, but he had immense respect for the NDP politician, probably recognizing in her rebellious nature a kindred spirit. He listened to her criticisms and then did something else typically Kleinesque. He admitted his mistake, apologized and made amends. In doing so, he became even more popular with Albertans.

Klein’s popularity was at times a source of mystery and frustration to his political foes. Even his foibles — his smoking and fondness for a drink — made him more popular with many Albertans.

Watching Klein’s performance, you realized voters don’t expect perfection from their politicians, they just want competence. And part of being competent is the ability to admit mistakes and set things right. Klein’s apologies weren’t of the painfully parsed or half-hearted variety. He sounded genuine and contrite. Watching his performance over the years, I came to realize he was the most natural-on-his-feet politician I have ever seen.

His popularity was built on the strikingly obvious fact that Klein liked people and they in turn liked him back.

What made Klein such an effective politician was what made him such a likable person. He was genuine and decent.

At the end of the day, you might disagree with Klein the politician but it was impossible not to like Ralph the man.

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